BENEDICTION - PREQUEL
by chrmisha
Summary: Prequel to "Benediction". This is the story of how Harry Potter and Severus Snape went from being enemies to lovers in the aftermath of the war and then how it all went so wrong. Thirteen years later, they meet again. I do not own Harry Potter or make any money from these stories.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a PREQUEL to Benediction, written for a reader who wanted to see the scene of them meeting for the first time again after thirteen years apart. Thanks for the suggestion!

* * *

Harry Potter stood outside the gates of Hogwarts, pale, exhausted, and at the end of his rope. He should have been thrilled to be back at his old haunt, reliving memories of teenage pranks and parties. Instead, he just felt hollow.

He hadn't left Hogwarts as a student fresh from his NEWTs, ready to embark on a new career at the Ministry. Instead, the last he'd walked these hallowed halls as a student was at the end of his sixth year, after Snape had killed Dumbledore. He hadn't returned his seventh year, instead following Dumbledore's wishes that he find and destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes, ultimately destroying Voldemort himself at the Battle of Hogwarts. The battle that not only he, Harry, had survived, but that Snape had also survived. The light hero and the dark hero, their continued existence after Voldemort's defeat against all odds. For Harry had returned from the dead, while Snape had precluded his demise by the expedience of anti-venom and blood replenishing potions.

Unlike many of his friends, Harry did not return to Hogwarts to repeat his seventh year and sit his NEWTs. No, he returned to Hogwarts first to help rebuild it and, later, to seek forgiveness from Severus Snape, neither endeavor as successful as he might have liked.

During the weeks and months he'd helped shore up Hogwarts and its defenses, he'd found himself working beside the wizard he'd loathed most of his youth. He had understood by then that Snape had killed Dumbledore on Dumbledore's orders, but it had done little to soften his feelings toward the bitter, resentful man. Still, he had gained a better understanding of Severus Snape during those long, silent hours spent side by side, casting spells and weaving their light and dark magic together. He'd witnessed Snape's stoicism, his dedication, his absolute assuredness that he was right and all others be damned. But Harry had also felt the grudge Snape held—whether against Harry or the Wizarding world in general, Harry couldn't be arsed to find out.

Instead, standing shoulder to shoulder with Snape, working day in and day out to repair the castle, Harry had grieved. Grieved for the lives that had been lost, the remaining lives forever affected by death and loss and change. He hadn't spent much time thinking about the man by his side, save for the necessity of the magic they needed to perform together.

It wasn't until a spell had gone wrong, deflected, and hit a stone column causing it to crash down on Harry's legs, that their relationship had changed. Harry had moaned in agony, mostly insensate to the world around him. Vague images of Snape's face looming over his, Snape's long hair brushing his cheeks, Snape's voice saying, ' _Potter'_ over and over, had drifted in and out of his consciousness. The next thing he knew, he'd woken up in the hospital wing, Snape asleep in an uncomfortable-looking chair beside him.

"Snape," he tried, but his voice failed him. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Snape," he rasped.

Snape jerked awake, his eyes roving over Harry as a look of immense relief crossed the man's normally unreadable features before the usual mask of indifference slipped back into place.

"Potter," Snape said, shifting from a slumped position into a more upright one. "I find it ironic that the Dark Lord didn't manage to kill you, but a misfired spell nearly did."

"Yeah, about that," Harry said. "I can't feel my legs."

"No, and you won't be able to for a while yet. A special team of healers from St. Mungo's has been working on you for the last three days to rebuild your crushed legs."

"Three days!" Harry exclaimed, glancing around the empty hospital wing.

"You've been sedated," Snape said.

Harry reached down and pressed his thighs. Although his fingers felt warm solid flesh, he felt nothing in his legs to indicate he was touching them.

"Er, _will_ I regain feeling in them?" And then, more to the point, Harry asked, a bit of panic seeping into his voice, "Will I be able to walk again?"

"That remains to be seen," Snape said. At Harry's horrified look, Snape added, "But if anyone can beat the odds, Potter, it most certainly is you."

* * *

It had taken almost five months, and more than a few harsh words from Severus Snape, but Harry _had_ learned to walk again. And most surprising of all, Snape had been with him every step of the way. Snape hadn't so much coaxed and cajoled Harry into doing the exercises and practice needed to regain his strength and coordination. No, Snape had done what Snape did best: bullied, criticized, and ridiculed Harry into fits of anger that pushed Harry beyond his limits and, ultimately, made him determined to prove Snape wrong.

And when Harry had finally managed the goal Snape had set for him—twenty-five confident, solid, steady steps on his own—Harry had whooped in triumph, fell into Snape's arms, and kissed Snape smack on the lips.

He hadn't meant to do it; he certainly hadn't planned it. Harry was just so happy and proud and overwhelmed by his success that it just happened. He pulled back a moment later, uncertain, and likely as stunned as Snape was himself.

Harry and Snape gazed at each other, a kaleidoscope of emotions warring with one another, and then they were snogging. Months, perhaps years, of pent up emotions worked themselves out through the press of lips, the clash of teeth, the dueling of tongues.

Snape maneuvered them toward his bedroom as hands roamed and bodies pressed and rubbed against one another, until the two men collapsed onto Snape's bed.

Harry was nothing if not eager. He'd grown used to Snape. Snape had become a balm to his grieving soul, to his hopeless failures at using his injured legs, to his self-pity. Snape had become his rock—and was as hard and demanding and unforgiving as one, too.

Snape rolled Harry onto his back, coming to rest atop of him, chest to chest. Harry moaned as Snape nipped and licked his way down Harry's body, discarding articles of Harry's clothing as he went. Harry bucked under the unexpected touch, the unexpected pleasure. This was an awakening in more ways than one—an end to his grieving, a new beginning. He latched onto it with the force of a drowning man, determined to hold onto this one thing that made him feel alive, that made him forget, that made life worth living.

* * *

Their quick tumble in the sack that night led to many similar nights, with each becoming bolder in the bedroom and with Harry, at least, becoming inextricably attached to the man who, more than any other, had saved him from himself once again.

And when lust and need gave way to something deeper, Harry grew content with staying, with casting his lot in life with this complicated, taciturn man: a man who was Harry's opposite in many ways. Harry was reckless, Snape was reserved. Harry did things on a whim, Snape planned for every outcome. Harry wore his heart on his sleeve, Snape played it close to the vest.

It was this last difference that brought their unspoken agreement to a screeching, devastating halt. And Harry knew it the second the words slipped from his mouth.

"I love you, Severus."

Three words that can solidify a relationship. Three words that can also destroy one.

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape scoffed.

"What's so crazy about me loving you?" Harry had said, lying on his side as he rested his head on his palm and stared down at his lover, both of them ensconced in Snape's bed.

Snape's face darkened ominously. "You are barely eighteen, Potter. You don't know what love is," Snape said, sitting up and sliding on his pants and trousers.

"And since when did you become judge and jury?" Harry asked, his ire rising.

Snape rose from the bed and made to leave the room. "Enough of this. I knew I should have put a stop to the madness months ago."

"Madness?" Harry echoed as he drew on his own pants and trousers before chasing after Snape. "What do you mean, madness?"

"In case it's escaped your notice, I am old enough to be your father," Snape said scornfully.

"So? What difference does that make?" Harry snapped. They were standing in Snape's sitting room now, nearly yelling at each other.

"You have your whole life in front of you, Potter. I did not save your sorry arse more times than I can count so you could sit around doing nothing and waste it!"

"And just what is it that you'd have me do, Snape? Is saving the world from Voldemort not enough?"

Snape laughed but there was no humor in the bitter sound. "So that's your plan. To live off your fame and glory for the rest of your sorry life."

"No, but after everything, I deserve a break."

"Yes, and I seem to have become the epitome of that break, Potter. I will not allow myself to be used any longer as your excuse to avoid living."

"I… what?" Harry said. "You think I am using you until I find something better?"

"That is exactly what I think, Potter."

Harry gaped, stunned and hurt.

Snape's expression turned decidedly colder. Glancing at his fingernails, as if Harry was beneath his notice, Snape said, "That's all you've been for me. A good shag to pass the time."

Harry stared, momentarily speechless. "That's not true," Harry breathed. "You… " Harry swallowed against the frantic lump in his throat. Maybe Snape didn't love him, maybe not yet, but he knew the man cared about him. He knew the man wasn't just using him, didn't he?

Snape sneered. "You are still a child, Potter. What use would I have for a child?"

"I can't believe you're doing this," Harry said, hurt causing the tears to spill over. "I love you."

"Really, Potter," Snape mocked. "Stop sniveling. I refuse to listen to this… this… drivel."

"Drivel?" Harry exclaimed. "Listen, if you don't feel the same, just tell me."

"I thought I just did," Snape said icily, his arms now crossed over his chest.

"Did what?"

"Tell you," Snape responded through gritted teeth.

"Tell me what?" Harry demanded.

"That I don't feel the same. About you." Snape said, his face lacking all expression, his eyes dead.

Harry felt the world around him shift and shatter. Had he so misjudged the man before him? The man he'd been practically living with for the last six months? The man who'd been by his side, on his side, all this time? The man who'd helped him recover from his crushing injury? The man who'd pushed him when he was more than ready to give up? The man who'd oscillated between making tender love to him one night, and having mind-blowing sex the next?

"No," Harry breathed. "You're lying."

Snape scoffed. "Come back when you're all grown up, Potter, and then tell me you love me," Snape said, turning his back on the boy.

"Please don't do this," Harry begged. "Please. I'm… I'm sorry."

"I have some business to attend to," Snape said dismissively. "I expect you to have your belongings out of my quarters by this afternoon."

"But…" Harry began.

"Clearly you have misconstrued the nature of our association, Potter. I suggest you place your affections where they'd be appreciated."

With that, Snape swept from the room, leaving Harry to stare after him. This time it wasn't his legs that were crushed, but his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry had never stopped loving Severus Snape, try as he might. He dated other men and women, some even long term, but it always ended the same way—these people didn't understand him. Some wanted to be associated with his name. Some wanted to bask in his fame. Some wanted to exploit him. Some were Muggles. But none of them were Severus Snape, and therein lay the problem.

That was not the reason that Harry was returning to Hogwarts, though. He had no illusions about rekindling a relationship with the man who so summarily dismissed him. No, he had other business that he hoped—likely in vain—that Severus might deign to help him with.

Harry shook his head at himself as he laid his hands on the Hogwarts gates. The wards recognized him instantly, the gates swinging wide to permit him entrance. He knew that the gates would not open for just anyone and he was pleased that he hadn't needed to announce his visit beforehand.

The chances of Severus Snape helping him, of all people, were slim. Likely Snape had been overjoyed to be rid of him and would not take kindly to his sudden reappearance after all of these years. Still, Harry had to try. He was a Gryffindor, after all. And if this didn't require an extraordinary amount of bravery, as well as a death wish, he didn't know what did.

He straightened his shoulders, making sure his glamour was firmly in place. Term had let out two days ago, so he didn't need to worry about running into any students. If he was lucky, he wouldn't run into any staff, either.

He stopped twice along the way to the dungeons, resting in an alcove and taking a moment to notice the changes that had been made to the castle in the thirteen years he'd been absent. Aside from a few memorial plaques here and there, there was no evidence that a great battle had once been fought and won within its walls.

The dungeons felt familiarly cool and damp as he made his way down the winding staircase and along the corridor to Snape's private rooms. His heart sped up with nerves and a trickle of sweat ran down his back. He leaned his forehead against the wall next to Snape's door, gathering his composure. It wouldn't do to let Snape see him as weak, or catch him babbling like a child.

* * *

Snape was sipping his morning coffee and reading the _Daily Prophet_ when there was a knock at his door. He frowned and checked the time. It was only nine in the morning. McGonagall was the only one who ever stopped by this early but, with term out two days ago, he couldn't imagine what she'd need to discuss with him. Shrugging, he made his way to his door and pulled it wide, prepared to offer the woman a cup of tea.

"Potter." The name came out like a benediction. He stared, unable to believe his eyes. Potter the man—no longer a boy at all—stood before him, that shit-eating grin on his face, his eyes alight.

"Professor," Potter said.

It was all Snape could do not to pull the man into his arms, bury his head in the crook of Potter's neck, inhale deeply, and weep for joy. But that was ridiculous. Surely Potter had not returned to confess his undying love.

Scoffing at himself and still unable to form coherent speech, Snape stepped back and held the door open, gesturing Potter inside. Potter seemed taller now, or perhaps he was just more self-possessed. His hair was as dark and wild as ever, though his glasses were much more stylish and mature, and looked good on him. His robes were fitted and accentuated his muscular build.

"Would you like some tea?" Snape asked, his voice sounding shaky to his own ears.

"That would be much appreciated," Potter replied.

Snape shook himself mentally. He needed to get a grip. Potter was here, in his quarters, and he was standing and staring like an idiot.

"Please, have a seat," Snape said, gesturing to his sitting room. "I'll get the tea."

He could have summoned a house-elf to provide the tea service, but he needed the time to steady himself. He felt a mixture of giddiness and regret. He'd driven the boy away all those years ago for the boy's own good. Potter had been young, on the cusp of adulthood. The last thing he needed was to be saddled with a bitter ex-Death Eater whose only purpose in life was to teach idiotic children a craft they didn't appreciate.

As self-serving as Severus was, even he couldn't abide saddling the budding young man with a life such as his. No, he'd done the right thing sending the boy away, even if it had cost Snape everything to do it.

But the boy had returned a man, a man who was sitting in front of his Floo. Snape swallowed and made his way back to the sitting room, gritting his teeth at the tinkling noise the service made due to his trembling hands. _Oh how the mighty have fallen_ , he thought to himself.

Snape set the tray on the coffee table in front of where Potter sat on the sofa. Then he took a nearby chair. "What brings you to Hogwarts this early in the morning?"

Potter busied himself with the tea things. Something in the man's demeanor spoke of unease. It gave Snape the impression that, whatever his business, Potter was reluctant to disclose it just yet.

"I see the castle has recovered," Potter said instead.

"Indeed," Snape replied. "There wasn't much to be done after…"

"After my injury," Potter filled in, nodding. He finished preparing his tea and added a couple of biscuits to his saucer. "The wards recognized me. Let me right in," Potter added.

"Did they? Clearly we need to strengthen our wards if just anyone can walk in." Snape bit back the familiar jibe about Harry Potter not being _just anyone_.

Potter laughed, but Snape thought it was a bit stilted.

"How is teaching going?" Harry asked, before correcting himself. "I mean to say, how has it been going? I realize that term just ended."

"It is as dull and frustrating as always," Snape reported.

Harry nodded. "I often wondered why you stayed."

Perhaps Potter was prying, but this wasn't personal enough for him to be offended. "At first it was because Hogwarts offered me protection against the remaining Death Eaters and their fans. After that, I must admit, I lacked the motivation to make a change. I fear it's become a comfortable, if odious, routine."

Harry laughed, and a spark of his youth lit his face. Time spun backwards and Snape saw the young man Potter used to be, all unreserved opinions and brash youthfulness. That easy nature was gone now, as if it had been carefully packed away. Part of Snape hated to see it go, but that was part of growing up, he knew.

"And what has the illustrious Harry Potter been up to?" Snape queried, drinking his tea.

"Oh, this and that," Potter answered noncommittally. "I've traveled a fair bit over the years."

"As irresponsible as ever, I see," Snape said, but his voice lacked his characteristic derision.

"I'm sure you'd think so," Harry said, laughing lightly. He took another sip of tea, and then set his saucer and mug back on the coffee table, his expression turning serious.

Snape set his mug down on the table as well.

"I wasn't sure you'd speak with me," Potter said, leaning forward slightly.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"We didn't part on the best of terms," Potter said.

Snape remained silent, not sure how to respond, not sure why Potter was here in the first place.

Potter ran a hand through his hair. "You aren't going to make this easy for me, are you?" he asked, glancing up at Snape through his fringe of black hair, and reminding Snape forcefully of Harry as a Hogwarts student.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Snape replied, reaching for his mug of tea to fill the awkward pause.

Harry sighed. He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and shook his head. "Why did you kick me out when you did?" he asked, and Snape had the impression that that was not what Potter had meant to say at all.

"That was many years ago," Snape said, dodging the question.

"Thirteen, to be exact," Potter replied.

Snape raised an eyebrow, surprised Potter remembered so precisely. "So it was," Snape replied.

Potter shook his head. "Perhaps this wasn't a good idea," he said, shifting forward to get to his feet.

"Wait," Snape found himself saying, the word slipping out of his mouth before he could think better of it. Harry paused, though still on the edge of the sofa. "Why did you come here today? Surely it wasn't just a social call."

Harry sank back, a look of defeat crossing his features. "I'm sick," he said simply.

 _Sick_? He didn't look sick. Snape set down his tea and looked closer, picking up the telltale shimmer, the way the light shifted around Potter's features.

"Remove the glamour," Snape demanded.

Potter studied him for a moment before releasing the spell. In so doing, he'd also removed his robes, leaving him in an under-vest and pajama bottoms for Snape's inspection.

Snape gasped, unable to help himself. He set down his mug and leaned forward, equal parts shocked and horrified. "Dear Merlin, what has happened to you?"

Potter shrugged his shoulders. "No one knows."

Snape knew he was staring but couldn't seem to pull his eyes away. Potter was skeletal. His face was sunken in, his limbs looked like sticks hanging off his body, his chest shrunken. Snape ran a hand over his face, hoping the image in front of him would change back into the healthy-looking man who'd walked through his door twenty minutes earlier.

Snape didn't know what to say. "And you came to me because…" he let his voice trail off, hoping Potter would fill in the blanks.

"I'm out of options," Harry said. Glancing up to meet Snape's gaze, he said, "I'm dying, Severus. I doubt you can help me, but I don't know, maybe there's a potion or something?"

Snape closed his eyes against the apparition before him. He swallowed once, twice, three times. He'd dreamed about Potter walking back through his door. He'd fantasized about what he'd do. Beg for forgiveness? Take the man to bed? Push him away again to save himself the heartache?

But here the man sat, and Severus wouldn't be granted the option to do any of those things. Because Harry Potter was _dying_. Every instinct in him told him so, if the sight before him wasn't clear enough. If he hadn't been so bowled over when he found Potter outside his door, he would have recognized the glamour, as well as the magical drain. Potter's normally strong aura of power that radiated off him in waves was as dim as a candle stub.

Severus shook his head. "I'm sorry," he breathed.

"I didn't really think you could help," Potter said. "But I had to ask." Potter shifted, cringed, bit his lip, and slowly relaxed into the sofa again. "If you wouldn't mind granting me a moment to rest first, I will be on my way."

"Potter," Snape said. And what could he say? Then a truly awful thought occurred to him. "Why waste what little magic you have left on a glamour?"

Potter rested his head on the back of the sofa, eyes closing. He looked ill and weary. "I wanted to see your real reaction to me. I knew you wouldn't turn me away if I looked ill."

Snape felt his stomach drop. If he'd refused to speak with the man, he'd have left without complaint. That thought felt like a knife in Snape's heart. Did Potter truly think him that callous? Then again, after the way Snape had dismissed Potter the boy, what else could Potter the man think.

Snape leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. "Potter." He paused, cleared his throat. "May I call you Harry?"

Potter nodded, his face collapsing into a grimace.

"I meant that I am sorry for your obvious illness, not that I wouldn't try to help you."

Harry's eyes opened, the tiniest spark of hope lighting their endless depths.

"I don't know that I can help you, Harry, but I give you my word that I will put my prodigious skills to the task and make every possible effort."

"You would do that for me?" Harry asked, looking surprised.

Snape held his breath, debating. Then, knowing there was nothing more to lose, he admitted, "I would do anything for you, Harry."

"But…" Harry began. "You said… thirteen years ago, you said…"

"I lied," Snape said bluntly. "I can see now what a fool I've been, but I thought I was doing you a favor. You had your whole life in front of you." Snape cringed at the incredulous look on Potter's face. "You deserved so much more than me," he said finally.

"So you didn't hate me after all?" Harry asked.

"Hate you? Merlin, no, Harry. What I felt for you was the farthest thing from hate."

Potter's eyes grew bright and Snape had to look away.

"I wish I'd known," Potter breathed. "I'd have come back sooner." Looking directly at Snape, he said, "I'd have never let you go."

"And I should never have let you go," Snape echoed, feeling all of his long locked-away emotions from all of those years ago surge back into him. He pushed to his feet, stepping up to the fireplace and leaning against the mantel. He jammed his fist into his mouth to hold back the sob that wanted to break free. Instead, he took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. After several long moments, he turned back to Harry.

"Can you ever forgive me?" Snape asked.

Potter, who still clearly wore his heart on his sleeve, nodded, unabashed, as tears ran down his face. "Always," he whispered.


End file.
